


Don’t You Ask Me (When I Fell In Love)

by CrowSizna, geckoholic



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics), Grayson (Comics), Midnighter (Comics)
Genre: Developing Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Fake/Pretend Relationship, First Time, Getting Together, Intergluteal Sex, M/M, Morning After, Non-Penetrative Sex, Undercover Missions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-02
Updated: 2019-11-02
Packaged: 2021-01-20 18:20:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21286085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrowSizna/pseuds/CrowSizna, https://archiveofourown.org/users/geckoholic/pseuds/geckoholic
Summary: Accepting a mission in which he poses as the current boy toy for Midnighter's high society sugar daddy persona at a gala that gathers all the big names in the international antiquity trade kind of counts as one of the most moronic decisions Dick has made in a good long while.
Relationships: Dick Grayson/Midnighter
Comments: 10
Kudos: 238
Collections: DCU Big Bang 2019





	Don’t You Ask Me (When I Fell In Love)

**Author's Note:**

> So when [crow](https://crow-sizna.tumblr.com) and me discussed possible ideas for this year's bang, we agreed that fake dating is a fun trope that no fandom can ever have enough of, and swiftly went for that. Please shower crow with love for the art, embedded in the fic! It's gorgeous and wonderful and hot and served as the basis for the sex scene. :D 
> 
> Beta-read by volavi. Thank you, especially for the quick second look on super short notice!! ♥ All remaining mistakes are mine.
> 
> Title is from "When I Fell" by Canyon City.

The suit itches. That should be impossible, the quality of the threads isn't too far behind the kind of suit that Bruce used to bestow upon him for official events when he was a teenager, but nevertheless Dick's skin tingles underneath the expensive fabric.

Or maybe it's not the fabric. The other option isn't one that Dick's ready to entertain quite yet, though.

Unlike all the fittings for Bruce's suits, this one doesn't happen at one of Gotham's esteemed tailors. Nope, this time he's standing right in Midnighter's living room, while the latter has disappeared into the bedroom to try on his own suit, and right now Dick sort of misses the detached professionalism of someone's place of business. This is far from the first time he's been to Midnighter's home, of course. It has become a place to discuss strategy, not just for this mission. A safe haven after they were caught in tight spots, portaled here to catch their breath, clean their wounds. And then, it has become a place of longing, kept carefully at bay, not yet defined. In the face of that, accepting a mission in which he poses as the current boy toy for Midnighter's high society sugar daddy persona at a gala that gathers all the big names in the international antiquity trade kind of counts as one of the most moronic decisions he's made in a good long while.

Dick glances at the bedroom door. He knows what he wants already, deep down, and it has a damn lot to do with being in that bedroom. With Midnighter. Naked. But not only that; Dick's done his fair share of casual arrangements, semi-regular fucks and the occasional movie night when both parties are too exhausted to get it up but still want the company, but this is different. This is more. And that makes it so much more complicated. That's what makes him unsure, makes him hesitate, makes him try and interpret every one of Midnighter's quips towards him like a teenager with their first love. It's ridiculous. Dick isn't used to all this awkwardness.

Luckily, Midnighter's voice sounds from the bedroom, just in time to save Dick from another deep dive into weighing the ups and downs of finally having a straight, adult talk about this. “Ready yet? Or do you need another five?”

“All dressed up,” Dick answers, and his breath catches when the bedroom door opens.

Midnighter isn't just dressed in a perfectly fitted pitch-black suit, he's also combed his hair back, and if Dick's not completely mistaken he's put on some eyeliner – not too much, just a bit, accentuating his gray eyes. He looks Dick up and down with his trademark smirk, slightly lewd, and his gaze is intense. It feels almost like a touch. Dick shivers.

“Now look at that,” Midnighter says with an appreciative whistle. “You clean up well.”

Dick rolls his eyes. Banter is good. Banter is safe territory. “And I'm sure this comes as a complete surprise to you, after all the research you've done on me when we first met.”

“Eh,” Midnighter shoots back. “You make me sound like some sort of stalker.” He cocks his head, winks. “Besides, there's a difference between photos and the real thing. And let me tell you, all those tabloid snaps don't do you justice.” He takes a step towards Dick and runs his finger across the line of Dick's collar, tsking. “Oh hey, look. This is askew.”

“It is not,” Dick protests, quite sure he's right. “I've worn plenty of suits as Bruce's ward, I know how to put them on.”

Nevertheless, Midnighter puts both hands on the side of his neck, tugging at the collar, his thumbs brushing Dick's skin over the edge of the fabric. Dick manages to hold his eyes throughout the whole maneuver out of sheer bravado. He's already thinking about all the hand-holding they'll have to do as part of their cover during the mission, the casual PDA, the dancing, the not-so-casual distraction they might have to pull on the party crowd.

It's going to be fine. No potential for disaster at all.

***

Later that day, Dick moves the blueprints this way and that on the large screen of the cave, trying to memorize every nook and cranny of the exclusive hotel, every possible escape route. He's gotten familiar with the area – a small village in the Italian alps, mob territory since forever – on google maps. He's brushed up on his Italian, too, and did a refresher with Alfred on all that needlessly expensive food stuff the rich and famous like to eat. The suit is upstairs in his old room, ironed to perfection, and he's dug the hypnos back out. He's prepared.

And nervous. He's so fucking _nervous_.

“That's rather elaborate research for a first date,” Jason comments from somewhere behind him, where he's perched on one of Bruce's bikes, eating a sandwich. It's both surreal and kind of nostalgic.

Dick doesn't turn around to level him with a glare. He's too busy. Also, he's not sure whether or not he's blushing. “It's not a date.”

“Correct,” Damian chimes in, and dammit, where did he come from just now? The kid's gotten way to good at this whole stealth business. Not like it's any wonder with his genes on one hand, and how much time he spends with his cats on the other. “Such elaborate measures of seduction can hardly be called a _date_,” he explains in Jason's direction, as if he's the world's leading expert on romance and not, in fact, hardly even within reach of puberty. “He's taking Grayson to Europe to pursue a criminal organization. It's dignified and inventive, and worthy of Grayson's station.”

Dick sort of wants to ask whether _station_ means being the Bat's heir or being an adopted Wayne, but it's already too late. Jason has exploded into laughter and fallen off the bike, and Damian is running over to both lecture him and help him up. Bruce can be heard thundering down the stairs, surely about to descend on them and chew them out for the ruckus, Tim's face has appeared on the screen, using remote access to the cave's computers that's technically reserved for emergencies, so he can get in on the action even if it's from afar, and Dick's concentration is more than shot.

“I hate you all so much,” he mutters, and then hurries over to Jason and Damian before one of them gets injured in their squabble, or Bruce gets tempted to grip them both by their lapels and throw them off the bridge.

***

He's lost count of the times that Midnighter portaled him somewhere, but it still leaves Dick's stomach reeling. He tries to fight down his nausea as he follows Midnighter from their landing point to the waiting limousine, complete with a driver that won't ask questions as long as the wad of cash that lands in his pockets turns out big enough. The last thing they need is for him to throw up all over his bespoke suit while they're already running a bit late. There was a bomb alert in the subway. Midnighter made short work of it, admittedly, but even so it messed up their well-timed arrival in Italy.

Dick climbs into the backseat after Midnighter and closes his eyes, leaning forward, but finds himself stopped by Midnighter's arm, stretched out to keep him from bending over and thus forcing him to sit back up. “Stop that. You'll only make it worse.”

He reaches past Dick, which requires him to scoot closer, so close their thighs are touching, and rolls the car window down. Dick swallows hard and stares at him, wide-eyed. Midnighter smiles and puts a hand on Dick's thigh, not all that high up, probably meant to ground him, and Dick suppresses a wince. Well. Upside is, it gives him something to think about other than the dire urge to throw up all over the exquisite leather upholstery.

***

Twenty minutes later, after a car ride through mountain ravines that somehow seemed less dangerous than entertaining the idea of leaning over and kissing Midnighter to free himself from all the stupid pining, they arrive at the hotel.

That's also when Dick puts a lock on said pining, and, with a deep breath, emerges from the car as the seasoned vigilante, the trained undercover cop, the heir to the bat mantle, and lets their driver help him out of the car with a downright regal gesture. He's played this game before; granted, not as eye candy, but as the teenage charity case of one of the richest men alive. For some, that might have been the same thing, although Dick never liked to think about it this way. He doesn't let that thought show on his face either and turns to Midnighter, who's just unfolded himself from the limousine as well, extending a hand to him. Midnighter takes it and strides ahead of him, leading him to the long alleyway that leads from the street to the entrance of the hotel. A runway of sorts, meant to see who's already there and, more importantly, to be seen.

The only thing that sets this scene apart from a Hollywood charity gala is the lack of paparazzi, and the rather undisguised presence of snipers on the roof. How charming. Dick runs through the escape routes he memorized, eliminating the ones that come with too much open exposure in someone's crosshairs. That's fine, though. The front entrance was never his favorite option to begin with.

Security at the door asks for an invitation which Midnighter presents with a leisurely smile, they're patted down for hidden weapons, and then it's done. They're in, and in front of them unfolds a scene that looks like it was taken from a period piece, or rather, a regency-style novel adaption. Women in expensive dresses, timeless and stunning, and men in elegant tuxedos, all parading in front of polished white marble. The hotel isn't nearly as old as it's designed to look, a modern high security building hidden behind the guise of poorly imitated renaissance architecture. As a whole, the display is just a little bit off – money can't buy taste, and an interest in luxury doesn't equal an interest in historical accuracy.

Dick scans the room, trying to get a sense for his surroundings and translate the blueprints into the real thing. The guards are good, discreet, but easy to spot if one knows what to look for. A bit too discreet, maybe – it's not like anyone attending this particular event would have any illusions about security being present.

Midnighter leans over. “All the exits to the private areas are heavily guarded,” he whispers. “As I'm sure you've noticed.”

“Mmmhmm,” Dick hums at him with a fake little laugh, batting his eyelashes in his best impression of a besotted little boy-of-the-month. The grin that follows, however, is genuine. “So,” he teases, “either one of us pretends to have gotten lost on their way to the bathroom – “

“While I do love the classics,” Midnighter interrupts with a wink and pats his suit pocket. “I think we're better off relying on my little friends here.”

They've talked about that beforehand: the tech that they're here to retrieve is part of a set, and the little bag of pills that look like sugar daddy's little helpers are actually a small army of artificial spiders attuned to their larger – and infinitely more destructive – counterpart.

And while those things are small, they're not invisible. Which leads them to the part of the mission that Dick was most excited and also most nervous about from the moment they planned it out: they have to create a distraction. Eye-catching, a bit scandalous, designed to keep everyone's attention on them instead on the spiders suddenly crawling their way across the dance floor.

Dick gives a tiny nod to confirm that they're still on the same page. He's reasonably sure he does not blush, a fact owed to Bruce's endless lessons on decorum and self-restraint. He hated them as a kid, but he will admit, very occasionally and only to himself, that they come in handy now and then.

***

They were among the last official guests to arrive, and soon after, the host gives a little speech and lets them loose on the buffet that's been lined up to one side of the room while he's been talking. Finger food of the excessively expensive variety, as expected, and both Dick and Midnighter skillfully discard the content of their plates into the flower arrangements and the waiting bins when no one's looking. It likely isn't poisoned, but hey, why take the risk, right? Their drinks suffer the same fate, even as they both pretend to get increasingly loose-limbed and clingy – holding hands, whispering to each other, spending too much time in each other's personal space.

Nothing quite out of the ordinary yet, for a party such as this, and still easily ignored by the more conservative guests, but showtime will soon be upon them. The distraction. Making a spectacle of themselves, two men dancing like this is a seedy gay club and not a high-society event for the who-is-who of international crime.

Once most of the guests have moved on from food and polite chatter to drinks and dancing, the buffet has been cleared, the lights have been dimmed a little and the music has almost imperceptibly risen in volume and style, Dick and Midnighter move towards the middle of the room, arm in arm, swaying to the music amidst a throng of other couples.

They've practiced some for the part that comes next – dance moves elaborate enough to stand out from the crowd, to draw the eye of the people around them, Dick undulating around Midnighter who's holding him loosely by the waist. This part, Dick had time to get used to. The next part, the indecent freeform, will be improvised. He doesn't remember whose idea it was, who to blame for the way his heart is beating in his throat before they even started, his palms getting sweaty, his thoughts losing all focus. Might have been him. Must have been him.

Midnighter's grip on both sides of Dick's hip tightens. He pulls Dick closer and stares at him in a widely recognizable display of something that manages to look, at the same time, like devotion and possessiveness. The sleight of hand is masterful; even Dick, who knew to expect it, hardly notices how he reaches into his pocket and releases the bag of pills that morph into those small spiders as soon as they hit the ground, slithering across the floor in search of their missing counterpart.

And that means they have to up the ante further. Midnighter’s palm slides up and down the curve of Dick’s ass, coming to rest a good hand's width below the line of what’s proper versus what’s lewd and provocative. He leans in as if for a dirty promise, grinning like a wolf whose mouth is watering at the sight of its prey, and whispers, “This okay?”

The contrast between the outward pretense and the softly asked question almost knocks Dick sideways. That, right there, is what drives him mad. How much is teasing, a game played on the assumption that it could never develop into anything real, and how much is genuine interest; Dick can’t tell the two apart.

But now's not the time to decipher mixed signals. He gives Midnighter another sly nod and then throws his head back on a moan, offering the long line of his neck and shoulder, and Midnighter takes the cue, mouths and licks at Dick's skin, all the way up his jawline, to a spot just underneath Dick's ear. Dick doesn't have to fake the shiver that runs through him then, an involuntary reaction he can't quite suppress. He bites his lips, attempting to make it look coy and submissive, and lowers his gaze to follow the path of the spiders. They're almost out of sight. Just a little longer, just a little more...

He doesn't know where the impulse comes from, and why he's giving into it all of a sudden. He doesn't care. This is pretense; if his newfound bravery backfires that's his out, that's how he could take it all back, that's what he'll cite to have it all undone, and for once he's grateful to fly with that kind of safety net.

Dick slings his arms around Midnighter's neck and kisses him, deep and filthy and fueled by months of pent-up longing. Midnighter responds immediately, his hands sliding up a little to rest on Dick's hip bones, a light and unexpectedly gentle touch. It works to balance out the urgency, the desperation that Dick puts into the kiss, and soothe away his nervousness. Even though they're surrounded by strangers, in the midst of a mission, it feels private, intimate, a confession that's welcomed and accepted.

Way too soon, Midnighter breaks the kiss. He drops his forehead against Dick's and bites his lips, followed by a rueful smile. “I hate to break this up right now,” he whispers. “But the package is ready.”

A small, huffed laugh escapes Dick at the ridiculous spy lingo, which might have been Midnighter's intention. He takes Midnighter's hand and tugs him off the dancefloor. He looks back at him as they're making their way through a bunch of whistling and mumbling onlookers to find that the shark grin and the somewhat predatory edge are back on his face, but there's something secretive there now, as well, something true.

Dick shivers.

They take detour to the men's restroom, for the pretense of a quick fuck in the nearest available toilet stall. The idea isn't without its merits, actually, where Dick is concerned, but he can wait. They have a job to finish and no time to waste. He does notice, however, how Midnighter doesn't let go of his hand even long after they're done with the public show, while they weave their way into the basement to follow the signal of the spiders and get the rest of the tech.

They only part once a few guards appear, causing trouble, and they both need their hands to deal out a few punches.

***

The portal to Midnighter's living room has Dick tumbling right into his arms, which leads to a rather surreal moment where they're standing on the carpet, Dick leaning on Midnighter, both of them staring at each other, too close and yet not nearly close enough. The tech they've recovered stands only two feet or so away, teeming with those tiny spiders, some of them already reversing back into their original form, looking like marbles.

Seconds ago, they were fighting their way out of a locked basement, and, at least as far as Dick's concerned, the adrenaline doesn't help with the punch of rising arousal, now that they're alone.

“I should,” Midnighter says, clearing his throat, and a certain thrill runs up Dick's spine at the realization that they're both off kilter here, that the hot coil of _want_ low in Dick's belly isn't one-sided after all. “Get that thing back to the Garden.”

He nods towards the tech, and yes. That's sensible. It still feels like a time-out; it's just that Dick's not sure if that's for his benefit, or for Midnighter's own.

Nevertheless, regrettably, Dick finds himself agreeing. “Yeah. I mean. That's been the whole point, right?”

“Right.” Midnighter nods again. He scratches his chin. His eyes are dark with desire, and Dick bites his lip at the sight. He doesn't want him to go, but, professionalism. Priorities. All that. Plus, if a moment to think is what Midnighter thinks they need, Dick won't argue him out of it. He's not prepared for the grin that follows a moment later, and _that_ sure doesn't imply second thoughts. “Wait here for me?”

He indicates the couch behind them, one of those huge, comfortable things, curled around a glass coffee table that's way too small in comparison. Dick smiles at him, tries to infuse it with a lewd kind of promise he has every intention of delivering on once Midnighter returns.

He plops down, and Midnighter, grinning more fondly now, calls a door. “I'll only be a minute,” he throws over his shoulder. “Literally.”

Dick leans back against the cushions, loosens his tie. He looks around the apartment, so familiar to him at this point: a little bit austere, like it's less of a home and more of a place to sleep between missions, like money hasn't been an issue in decorating but the owner's heart wasn't in it. The furniture all seems relatively new. Dick knows of an ex, a long relationship that ended not too long before he and Midnighter met, and part of him wonders whether that guy kept their old furniture. But, no. That's a road he refuses to go down. Whoever that guy was, he's not here right now. Dick is. That's what matters.

He sighs, head tipped back, and closes his eyes. Talk about complicated. Dick's ready to go all in, and here he is, wondering whether the whole event tonight is little else than a rebound for Midnighter. He could ask. He might, later. Afterward, even though that's stupid and the expressway to heartbreak.

Moments later the familiar static rumble of a portal returns. Dick hears footsteps on the parquet floor. The couch dips beside him, and gentle fingers card through the hair above his ear. Dick blinks, looking into Midnighter's face, showing an unusually soft expression. He looks at Dick like he's something precious, and Dick swallows hard, indulges in the thought that this isn't the way Midnighter might look at a quick one-off rebound.

“Kiss me?” Dick asks, relegating all worries and second thoughts to the backseat, and Midnighter closes the distance between them.

Dick's hands wander towards the waistline of Midnighter's dress pants almost of their own accord, pulling at the hem of his shirt to reach the skin underneath. He's rewarded by a small shiver at the first brief contact, and he keeps going, gets to work on the buttons of Midnighter's suit jacket so he can push it off his shoulders. The buttons on his shirt are next, and Midnighter shifts to shuck both off altogether while Dick runs his palms over the corded muscles shifting underneath his skin as he moves.

They've seen each other mostly naked, patched each other up, that kind of thing. It's a completely different thing, though, to see him most of the way to undressed under circumstances like these. He wants to touch _everywhere_, fingertips reverently dancing along more of the exposed skin.

He breaks the kiss, giving Dick a crooked grin. He pushes his hips up, dragging Dick's attention to the unmistakable bulge at his crotch. “Stopping already?”

Dick grins back and slowly, pointedly, shakes his head. Holding Midnighter's gaze, he unbuttons the latter's pants, tugs at them until Midnighter raises his hips a little, giving Dick room to pull them down to mid-thigh. The outline of his erection is clearly visible through the fabric of his briefs. Heart beating a wild, nervous staccato, Dick pulls those down, too, and wraps a hand around Midnighter's hard cock.

Midnighter moans, hips working to thrust into Dick's hand. He licks his lips, eyes half-lidded. “Don't you think you have some catching up to do?” he asks, his voice hitching when Dick rubs his thumb against the small cluster of nerves just underneath his cockhead. “I want to see you.”

After giving him a long, teasing stroke, Dick stands to get undressed, making quick work of the suit and discarding the jacket, shirt and pants where they fall, until he stands in front of Midnighter in his boxers and nothing else. Midnighter, in the meantime, has toed off his footwear and kicked his pants and underwear off altogether, too, and he sits there on the couch, one hand around himself, his eyes traveling the length of Dick's body. His gaze stops at Dick's crotch, then shoots back up to meet Dick's eyes. He grins, a little feral, and raises an eyebrow.

Dick hooks his fingers into the elastic of his boxers on both sides and pulls them down. He feels himself twitch at being looked at, being seen. He's desperately hard, already wet at the tip.

“Come here,” Midnighter prompts. He offers Dick a steadying hand and, once Dick takes it, pulls him down to straddle his lap. They brush up against each other by accident once Dick's securely seated, and Dick doesn't have time to ride out that sensation before Midnighter wraps a hand around them both. He moans, doesn't dare move.

They're both dripping at this point, which smooths out the way for Midnighter's strokes, slow, with exquisite pressure. Dick looks down to where Midnighter's got them both in hand, transfixed. “I...” he stammers, because this is too much, too fast, and he doesn't want it to be over so quickly. “I'm gonna...”

“Can't have that,” Midnighter whispers, voice low and rough. He lets go, causing Dick to emit a low whine in protest. He shifts his weight until he's seated a bit lower on the couch, and grips Dick's hips with both hands to adjust his position, raise him up so he's sitting even further in Midnighter's lap, Midnighter's cock straining up behind him now. He reaches behind them both to press it to the cleft of Dick's ass.

Dick blinks up at him. Midnighter nods, and Dick starts to _move_. His entire body is already hyper-sensitive, attuned to what they're doing, every touch intense, and he moans again, long and deep, at the drag of Midnighter's cockhead over his hole. He wants more, wants him _inside_, but they're both too far gone for that right now. Dick is already strung so high, another brief touch to his cock might cause him to come.

Midnighter, meanwhile, alternates between pressing himself between the cheeks of Dick's ass and running his hands up and down Dick's thighs, murmuring praise and filthy nothings at Dick with a smirk. More than once, he feigns taking Dick in hand, but only brushes his palm over the tip, and it drives Dick mad. He's worn thin between the drag on his hole and the teasing little almost-touches to his cock. He uses both hands to brace himself on Midnighter's chest, whines when the latter presses butterfly kisses to Dick's nick and jaw.

He feels the wet sensation of Midnighter's climax, his release smeared along the small of Dick's back and running down between his cheeks. Midnighter doesn't let him linger on that feeling either, though. He takes hold of Dick's cock and it's little more than two tugs before Dick's coming as well, spilling over Midnighter's hands.

Midnighter kisses him through the aftershocks, mutters something about a shower and then sleep, and Dick closes his eyes, lost in the sound of his voice, in their closeness, in the scent and the feel of both their releases.

In the knowledge that this finally, actually happened.

  
(open in new tab for bigger view)

***

The unmistakable aroma of freshly ground, freshly brewed coffee rouses Dick from sleep in the morning. At least he thinks it's morning. Between a trip to Europe and Midnighter's everywhere-and-nowhere apartment, he can't be sure. Not like it matters; he's never had a regular sleeping schedule to begin with.

“Kinda figured that'd do the trick,” Midnighter says with a chuckle, nodding towards a steaming cup on the nightstand.

His voice is still rough with sleep, and when Dick works himself up on his elbows, he finds him sitting on the edge of the bed in nothing but black boxer briefs – true to form. Dick grins, although it edges out into a yawn, and stretches his arms out in front of himself. He then picks up the cup and sniffs it, eyes closed so he can really appreciate the aroma – there might even be a hint of cinnamon and vanilla. If he hadn't already been head over heels, that'd be the clincher. “You're not kidding around when it comes to good coffee, I see.”

“Hell no,” says Midnighter, with a perfectly straight face and in a perfectly casual tone. “I'm never kidding around when I can take the time to make it good. I was hoping you noticed that last night.”

Dick narrowly avoids choking on his first sip. He puts the cup back down – one does not risk spilling coffee made with this much care – and sits up, folding his legs underneath himself, so that he can inch towards Midnighter and hug him from behind. He hasn't showered yet; he still smells like musk, like sex, like _them_.

They remain like that for a moment, Dick's arms around Midnighter's waist, Midnighter's hand on Dick's arm, before Midnighter rises to his feet. His mouth is a thin line, his eyes crinkled with worry, and okay, that isn't part of the pleasant morning after Dick was hoping for.

“What is it?” Dick asks. He arranges the sheets around himself – something tells him this might not shape up to be the kind of conversation he wants to have naked after all – and sits up properly.

“If you want to make a run for it,” Midnighter replies, his voice as toneless and business-like as Dick has ever heard it, “and never breathe another word about what happened, we can do that.” His expression isn't quite as void of emotion; that's not his favorite conclusion to last night's events, so much is obvious. “You just gotta tell me now.”

Dick shakes his head, mentally combing through what he might have said, might have done, to leave that impression. “No. _No._ That's the last thing I want.” He lowers his gaze, afraid his eyes will say too much if he meets Midnighter's. “I've wanted this for awhile. I just wasn't sure...”

He trails off, and Midnighter picks the thread back up without missing a beat. “What, whether _I_ want _you_?” he asks, scoffing, his voice carrying a scornful note. “Did I seriously leave any doubt about it?”

Dick looks up again, hesitantly, wondering how this got back to being so complicated all of a sudden when everything seemed so clear last night. “There's a difference between comments about my ass and wanting _me_,” he points out. It might come out a little darker, a little more sarcastic than planned. There's an old hurt there, carefully locked away, rarely examined.

“Ah.” With that one word – one letter, really – all the defensiveness seems to melt from Midnighter expression. He extends his hand towards Dick, and, when Dick takes it, curious, he pulls him to a stand. He runs a finger down Dick's jaw, gently, yet with unmistakable intent. “I might not have made myself clear, after all, then.” He tips Dick's chin up and searches for his gaze, their lips mere centimeters apart. “I want you, Dick Grayson. Got that? I want _you_.”

The words are reassuring, but more so is the kiss, a slow thing, a promise in itself. That there'll be others, and that not all of them will be shared during, before, or after sex. It tastes of future good morning kisses, kisses to say goodbye and hello, and kisses just because.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [dreamwidth](https://geckoholic.dreamwidth.org/), [tumblr](http://lostemotion.tumblr.com) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/spacenerdz).


End file.
